Grinning, he fisted a handful of his prisoner’s black hair and slammed his head against the slab. “Trust me, friend,” he whispered at the Demon’s ear. “What happens in the next few hours is entirely up to you, but know this—if you fail me, it will seem like foreplay compared to what I do to those you love. Are we clear?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. It didn’t really matter whether the creature agreed anyway.
“Now, what do you know about the Battle of Breamwyrm?”
Solyrian’s raysbeat down upon his Demon brethren, their sweating bodies hard at work. The light was blinding, harshly gilding them as they moved—too fast, too slow, swirling and spinning in disjointed motions that made no sense anymore.
He was meant to be moving with them, helping to build the ceremonial platform, but he couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel his lips or limbs.
“Brand!”
Whoever was calling his name would have to wait until the ringing in his ears quieted and his heart stopped hammering against his lungs, stealing his breath.
Weeping Sisters, he hated it when this happened.
He made his trembling hand reach for a waterskin, drinking deep. He found no anchor within the cool liquid, but perhaps it would be in the swipe of an arm across his brow, or the peace he feigned when he tilted his head up to the sunstar.
Hopefully, the desperate attempts to ground himself looked like nothing more than a much-needed rest to those around him.
No one could know that a random thought had barged in uninvited, seizing control, his churning mind completely at odds with the smooth actions of his body. That a vice was slowly tightening itself around his chest, or that the flush crawling across his skin had nothing to do with the summer season. That he would give anything to sink into the ground and stay there until he was settled again.
“Brand!”
His eyes snapped open to Hedda standing in front of him. Hair like red wine was twisted up into a haphazard knot, her ivory horns rising from the mess. Worry was etched in the deep grooves between her furrowed brows, but not for him. She was too obviously irritated.
Good. Something to focus on besides his own shite—provided he could stop feeling as though he were drowning.
Brand clawed his way through the haze, barely able to form his question. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Aldiat,” she said, cheeks puffing out. “He completely fucked his fighting arm during morning drills and is refusing to have it looked at. Baldrir is the only one that can ever get through to the stubborn bastard, but he isn’t here.”
“Right. Um…”
Baldrir… Baldrir… He’d sent Baldrir to?—
“Thodelebor,” Brand answered finally, the rusted cogs in his mind reluctantly turning. “Bal left for Thodelebor yesterday afternoon with messages for the Chieftains, as well as my uncle and brother.”
Stars above, when had his tunic started sticking that way, clinging to his neck and trying to suffocate him? He hooked a finger into the collar, wanting nothing more than to rip the garment off.
Faldir popped up beside Hedda, irritation evident across his nearly identical features. “We don’t give a flying fuck where Bal is. Aldiat is meant to be mated in a few hours, his hand is barely attached to his body, and the damned fool has decided to try and heal himself with hard drink.”
Brand’s lips quirked up, not quite a smile but enough to seem normal. “Faldir. Cheerful as ever, I see.”
Hedda’s twin raised an unamused brow. The motion pulled at the puckered scar running down his cheek and into the corner of his lips, a shocking slash of pink in his otherwise deeply tanned skin. “If it were time to be bloody cheerful, I wouldn’t be doing it here in the sweltering heat with you lot.”
No, he certainly wouldn’t. Faldir saved his best moods for others, during the few hours he was off duty.
With a sigh, Brand mindlessly dragged a palm back and forth along one of his horns and closed his eyes. “Find one of the Sorcerit due to bring the latest batch of flowers and pay whatever they ask in return for healing him.”
“Um…” Hedda cleared her throat and waited until Brand pried his lids open to look at her. “That delivery happened hours ago.”
Sometimes this middle space was the worst part of his attacks. He wasn’t as lost but his senses were dim until they suddenly weren’t, and it took Brand far too long to realize what Hedda had said.
He blinked once, twice. “Hours?”
“It’s mid-afternoon,Your Highness,”Faldir grumbled.
“Mind yourself, little brother,” Hedda hissed, elbowing Faldir.
